by Jasmin B. and Sayaka Y.

When walking through Berlin’s Japanese restaurants and cafés, “Japaneseness” is not always presented in the same way. Some places advertise themselves through words such as “authentic Japanese,” while others create a quieter sense of familiarity through food, language, interior details, or atmosphere. During our ethnographic scavenger hunt for which we visited different Japanese cafés and restaurants along Kantstraße, we began to notice that Japanese authenticity is not simply given, but actively shaped in different ways.

This question became especially interesting because we observed these spaces from two different perspectives: one of the authors is Japanese, while the other is German. Despite these different backgrounds, we both agreed that our first stop, a Japanese bakery, did not present Japaneseness in an exaggerated or overwhelming way. Instead, it felt like a balanced Japanese café, where cultural references were present but not forced. Taste was of course an important part of this impression, especially when thinking about whether the food felt familiar to Japanese customers. However, comfort also became an important point. Interior design, menu structure, smell, sound, staff background, and language use can all become implicit cultural messages. Whether intentionally or not, they communicate how a place identifies itself and what kind of customers it seems to invite. Rather than asking simply whether a restaurant was „authentic,“ our observations encouraged us to think about how different food spaces communicate Japanese identity, who they seem to address, and how cultural familiarity, commercial branding, and ideas of authenticity overlap in everyday practice.

The Japanese bakery offered a good starting point for these questions. Its menu included onigirazu, rice bowls, curry rice, bento, cakes, and mochi, as well as coffee and tea variations such as sencha, hōjicha, genmaicha, and matcha. Some sweets used flavors such as sesame, yuzu, miso, matcha, and hōjicha. At the same time, the café also included elements that fit well into Berlin’s café culture, such as vegan meal options, gluten-free rice cookies, alternative milk choices such as soy and oat milk, bright windows, plants, and a relaxed and cozy atmosphere. The result was not a space that simply “displayed Japan,” but one that combined Japanese food culture with a casual Berlin café environment. The interior reflected this balance as well. There was a small tatami-style corner, Japanese script on the wall, a bookshelf, plants, different styles of tables, and seats by the window. Our fieldnotes described the atmosphere as relaxed, bright, breezy, and good for conversations. Importantly, it did not feel overly “Japanese.” Rather than relying on strong visual symbols, the café created familiarity through smaller details: the smell of freshly cooked rice, the use of Japanese among staff, Japanese food culture in the menu, and a warm but casual service style.

Other restaurants along the route showed different ways of presenting Japaneseness. Fuwa Fuwa, although closed during our visit, already communicated a clear branding strategy from the outside. It labeled itself as “authentic Japanese,” had a colorful front, and offered recognizable dishes such as rāmen, okonomiyaki, gyūdon, udon, side dishes like gyōza and karaage, and even mochi, taiyaki, and melonpan as sweet desserts, which can only be ordered via a QR-Code. With German explanations of dish names and phrases such as “healthy Japanese lunch,” Japaneseness appeared here more explicitly through words, colors, menu language, and familiar food categories. Heno Heno gave another impression. From the outside, it appeared as a more casual and everyday Japanese food space, with rice bowls, udon, soba, onigiri, and vegetarian options. Its izakaya-style atmosphere suggested a form of Japaneseness less connected to trendiness and more to everyday dining. Kuchi, by contrast, seemed more modern, refined, and internationally accessible. Seeing both Japanese and non-Japanese employees there raised the question of whether a “Japanese” atmosphere is produced through staff, interior design, branding, menu, or a combination of these elements.

Through these observations, we began to understand authenticity not as a fixed quality, but as something constructed in relation to different audiences. A restaurant may feel “authentic” because of taste, language, interior design, staff, or customers’ expectations. At the same time, authenticity can also function as a marketing term, making a place more legible to those less familiar with the culture. Overall, the scavenger hunt showed us that even a short field visit can reveal many layers of cultural representation. While we originally approached the route with an interest in Japanese restaurants as workplaces and community spaces, the fieldwork also made us pay attention to how Japanese culture is displayed, translated, and felt in Berlin. Visual observation has clear limits: we could observe menus, interiors, language use, and atmosphere, but not how workers or owners themselves understand these spaces. Still, the assignment helped us see that “Japaneseness” in Berlin’s food spaces can be explicit or subtle, commercial or familiar, carefully branded or casually embedded in everyday details.

Jasmin B. and Sayaka Y. are students in the MA program Global East Asia at Freie Universität Berlin.